


Besides Ride an Escalator

by stillscape



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillscape/pseuds/stillscape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-"Road Trip" smut, based on the following prompt: <i>I would like to see Leslie be the confident sexy one and Ben is nervous the first time they sleep together but Leslie is just a firecracker in bed. Like all her enthusiasm for things translates to her sex too </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Besides Ride an Escalator

It turned out that there was a huge difference between fantasy and reality. 

Fantasy was spending nights at the Pawnee Super Suites, thinking about her, imagining. Fantasy was trying not to imagine anything _too_ specific, because he wasn’t that kind of guy and she was definitely not that kind of woman.

Reality was lunch in the courtyard, on opposite sides of a picnic table. Slowly opening himself up to the fact that he’d landed in yet another town with a beautiful woman whose smile made his knees buckle (that had happened reasonably often, if he was being honest, but he’d always been able to dismiss those feelings before), and that for once they’d gotten past the horrible first impression that he always gave when he was being responsible. For once he’d kind of managed to prove that he wasn’t actually that guy, not all of the time. For once—and this really _was_ a first, he thought—the beautiful woman hadn’t immediately started drooling over Chris. Had never even glanced at Chris, as far as Ben could tell. 

He spent whole nights alone in the Pawnee Super Suites, staring at the ceiling or at terrible Lifetime movies—that was the only cable channel the motel’s proprietor seemed to think was necessary—trying to process that someone like Leslie Knope existed. And when he finally clued in to the fact that she wasn’t actually perfect, he somehow fell even harder. She was just so good at so many things. Like making him feel good, even when she wasn’t trying to. Just the fact that she _did_ sometimes try to make him feel good was enough. 

Fantasy was failing, miserably, at not imagining anything too specific. Fantasy was hand lotion and cold showers and feeling guilty afterwards. 

Reality was wondering when someone was going to notice that he spent at least an hour in the Parks department every single day, which added up to at least four and a half hours a week that he did not, strictly speaking, need to be in the Parks department. 

Fantasy was imagining being alone with her, away from work and rules, and finally telling her. That particular fantasy happened over and over in his head, nearly every night from the time they’d eaten hamburgers by the wildflower mural. It happened so many times that when he finally _was_ alone with her, away from work and rules, and he told her, it still felt like a fantasy. But Ben knew that it wasn’t, knew that it was a real moment, knew that somehow he was the one saying those words—that somehow the words were coming out exactly the way he’d imagined them, calmly and confidently and in the correct order—

Fantasy was Chris choking to death on one of those overlarge vitamin pills. Fantasy was sweeping her off her feet, fulfilling—okay, he had no idea what _Leslie’s_ sex fantasies were like, but his definitely all ended in Leslie smiling contentedly and falling asleep in his arms, muttering drowsy compliments about his abilities. 

Reality was not even turning on the hot water in Chris’s shower and discovering that—although Chris’s shower had a water chiller as well as a water heater (“for added vigor!” and why the _hell_ did that thing even exist) it still wasn’t cold enough. 

Finally kissing Leslie—well, that felt like a fantasy too. 

When reality kicked in again, he was standing in Leslie’s bedroom. And reality kicked in _hard_. He’d been thinking about this moment for months. Dreaming of it. And when it finally came, it came with reminders about exactly how long it had been since he’d last slept with a woman, and exactly how badly that had gone. 

Leslie returned from the bathroom, where she’d been removing her jewelry, and raised an eyebrow at him. “You look like you’re about to throw up.”

Never, in any of his fantasies about being in Leslie’s bedroom, had he been quite this nervous. The problem with bedrooms was that there wasn’t anything in them to lean on, to try and take some nervous weight off his feet, or however that was supposed to work.

“I’m not going to throw up.” 

“Good,” she said. “Because that wouldn’t be very sexy.” She stood in front of him, wrapped her arms around his waist. Her blazer was gone, too. 

“It wouldn’t be.” It struck him how easy it was to _not be very sexy_. 

Leslie, on the other hand…was not having that problem. She’d unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, and slipped off her shoes. And he wouldn’t swear to it under oath or anything, but he was pretty sure she was arching her back just a little bit, so that her breasts pressed into his torso. He wanted to touch them, but he put his hands around her shoulders instead. That felt safer, somehow. It also felt a little bit like they were slow dancing, even though they weren’t moving. That was fine. Slow dancing kept him from wondering when exactly he had last _tried_ to feel sexy. That particular thought was not computing in any way. 

“So, you’re here,” she said, with a little smile. 

“I’m here,” he agreed, although he still wasn’t sure he believed that, yet. 

“And I’m here.” 

“Yes. Well, it’s…it’s your house.”

“And you kissed me. In your office.” 

“I did kiss you in my office.” He wasn’t sure where they were going with this, exactly, and he wanted to make a move, but he’d somehow forgotten how to do that. If he had ever known how to make a move in the first place. He wouldn’t swear to that under oath either, even though he was pretty sure he’d made one—no, two, one in Indy and one in his office. 

“And now you’re in my bedroom.” She was smiling more broadly now. Not her earnest smile or her pleased smile (although she did look awfully pleased), but a smile that was a little more devious, maybe. Something in her eyes was making him tremble.

“I am.” 

“I like that.” Then her lips met his, and he was lost again. One of her hands slid up, palm flat against his chest. She left it there for a moment. Then her other hand shot downwards and grabbed his ass.

Okay. Leslie Knope was unquestionably _feeling him up_. 

“Hello,” he said.

Leslie just grinned. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” 

“Have you now.” Her other hand moved down there too. He was starting to like it.

“Mmm.” She kissed him again. “You have a cute butt.” 

He heard some weird nervous noise come out of his throat, and hoped it wasn’t too off-putting. “Um. Thanks?” 

She took a step back, then, and looked him up and down. “You’re still wearing your necktie. And your shoes.”

“Well,” he said, swallowing a little, “so?”

“I don’t think you should be.” 

Ben started fumbling with his necktie. He was pretty sure he’d loosened it at some point during the day, he always did that, but the knot was strangely tight now. His shoes didn’t seem to want to come off, either. Finally he got both things piled into a corner, then paused, thought for a moment, and added his wallet and cell phone.

“Okay,” he said. “Happy now?”

Leslie wrinkled up her nose. “No.”

“No?”

“We’re both still wearing clothes,” she said. Her devious grin flashed even brighter for a moment, and then faltered slightly. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“I—no. God, no.” They’d passed the point of no return twenty minutes ago, he thought, when Leslie had demanded a recitation of his full medical history with regards to certain areas of his anatomy, then given him a detailed summary of her five most recent gynecological checkups and—yes, okay, he was glad to know they were both clean and she was on the Pill, but that was—anyway, god, no, he wasn’t having second thoughts. 

“Good,” she said, in her most businesslike tone. She grabbed him by the wrists and marched him over to the edge of her bed, where he sat. 

“Just—look, Leslie.” He twisted his hands, wrapped them around her wrists, and forced himself to make eye contact with her—and trembled a little, again. Hopefully she wasn’t in one of those moods where she was going to refuse to hear anything she didn’t want to hear. “It’s just—it’s been a really long time for me, okay?” 

She draped her arms around his neck and popped onto the bed, so that she was in his lap, straddling him. He draped his arms around her waist, trailed his fingers across the silky fabric over her back. “I figured as much,” she said. “It’s okay. In fact, I kind of like it.”

“You _figured_ —” What, she thought he couldn’t get laid? Also, did that matter? Ben wasn’t sure it mattered; she’d just cut him off with a kiss. 

“Because—” She scraped her lower lip across her teeth, then licked her lips a little. “Because you’re not the kind of guy who has a lot of meaningless flings, are you?” She ducked in, but instead of kissing him on his mouth this time, she ran her lips along his jawline, and he shuddered. “At least I don’t think you are.”

“I’m not.” Well, he’d _tried_ it a couple of times—anyone who’d been on the road as long as he had would have at least _tried_ it—but the way he felt after the act wasn’t worth the way he felt during it. He hadn’t had a casual fling in—he had no idea how long; Leslie was nipping at his earlobe now and _where the hell had this sexy Leslie come from?_ She had to be able to feel his dick straining against his pants. 

“And,” she said, almost in a whisper, “I’ve been watching you.”

“You’ve been _watching_ me?” 

“Of course I have,” she said, going back to her businesslike voice—god, he was powerless here, Businesslike Leslie was just as sexy as Sexy Leslie. “And you haven’t looked at any woman but me since you’ve been here.” 

His voice broke completely, then. “I really haven’t.” 

Leslie smiled again, back to the sexy smile, and Ben suddenly realized _how many times_ he’d seen that look before. It was kind of a heady thought. 

“Good,” she said. Then she knocked him flat on his back. “And it’s been a while for me, too,” she continued. She was unbuttoning his shirt now—slowly, methodically, precisely. “But I know what I want.”

“What do you—” She slipped the last button open and yanked his shirttails out, which took a couple of tries—but no one had ever accused Leslie Knope of not being persistent; her persistence was one of the sexiest things about her, along with her businesslike voice and her sexy voice and god, all of her was just so sexy. 

“You,” she said, simply. “I thought I was being kind of obvious about that. Was I not being obvious?”

“No, you were.” It was just hard to believe, that was all. He was unbuttoning her blouse now, and wasn’t totally sure when he’d started doing that. It seemed like the right thing to do, though. 

They made out some more.

And making out with Leslie was awesome, even if it made unbuttoning her shirt more difficult. He finally gave up on that, and slid his hands underneath her camisole, felt her impossibly soft skin, gripped the curves of her waist. 

She felt _so much better_ than anything he’d ever dared to imagine. She felt so good that he forgot everything, temporarily—that this could cost them both their jobs, that he was terribly out of practice, that—god, it was worth the risk. Leslie was worth every risk.

Then she stopped kissing him. Pushed away and stood up and before Ben could fully process exactly what was happening now, she’d stripped off her pants and blouse. 

“Well, come on,” she said, sounding a little impatient. “Why are you still wearing clothes?” 

He started trying to formulate a response— _Because I wasn’t expecting you to just stand up and take your clothes off; no one does that. Why did you do that? I wanted to do that to you. Because you just stood up and took all your clothes off and good lord, I want to stare at you forever. Because—_

At this point, Ben realized that he was standing up and kissing her again, and she was back to tearing at his shirt. 

“Take it _off_ ,” she hissed, swatting at his hands. “I can’t get your arms out of the sleeves if they’re around me.” The minute he’d tossed his shirt aside, Leslie’s hands were inside his undershirt, nails raking against his back before he could even get his arms around her again. God, that felt good. 

It was starting to get extremely warm in Leslie’s bedroom.

Leslie, apparently, could read his mind, because at that moment, she started pulling his t-shirt over his head. This took a tiny bit of effort on her part; she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach. She was concentrating _so hard_ on getting his shirt off, with her eyes narrowed and her mouth screwed up, like the world was going to end if she didn’t get his shirt off _right this instant_ , but when he tried to help, she fought him off. 

There was a tangling of arms, and t-shirt, and his head, and just—god, the worst part was happening already, the part where he inevitably became too—too _angular_ to be any good at this. All elbows and knees and—

But then Ben heard a triumphant cackle, and the struggle was over. He was shirtless and sprawled across Leslie’s bed again, while she stood with his t-shirt balled in her fist. 

“I told you, I know what I want,” she said, and she threw the t-shirt aside. “Now I want your pants off.” Then she jumped on the bed—actually bent her knees and sprung and landed next to him on the mattress—and started _taking_ them off. While simultaneously making out with his chest.

He’d never felt so…so _desired_ before. It was undeniably awesome.

And two could play at this game. 

Another brief round of wrestling later, and Ben had decided that the problem wasn’t that _he_ was too angular; the problem, which had now been solved, was that none of his previous, er, _wrestling partners_ had been so petite. Now that they had made out in a variety of interesting positions—he’d finally succeeded in flipping Leslie over so that he could be on top for a while, then she had flung him over again, then they’d wound up on their sides somehow—now it seemed clear that Leslie just _fit_ against him. That her shoulders were exactly the right shape for him to grip; that her waist and hips made the most perfect curve to run his hands down; that _everywhere_ on her was perfect for kissing. 

Maybe Leslie’s body seemed so perfect because she wasn’t holding anything back. Now that they were well into foreplay, it seemed self-evident that she would be as confident and enthusiastic about sex as she was about everything else in life, just…well, _he_ was always a little unsure about taking his clothes off in front of someone for the first time, and in his experience, women were too, and…come to think of it, he really wasn’t nervous about taking the rest of his clothes off. 

Yeah, Leslie wasn’t most women. 

She certainly wasn’t shy about letting him know what she did and didn’t like, which Ben appreciated. No to fingertips on the backs of her arms—she was ticklish there—but yes to fingertips running up the base of her neck and into her hair. No to touching her left knee in any way—she said she’d explain that one later—but yes to sliding his fingers a fraction of an inch into the waistband of her panties. Yes, a definite yes, to pressing his erection against her thigh. 

And Leslie hadn’t yet done anything to him that he didn’t like. Yes to her raking her nails across his scalp. Yes to her lips on his neck. Yes, a definite yes, to being stroked through his boxers, especially if she was going to smile like that every time she touched him. 

She knocked him on his back again, straddled him, raised one eyebrow, and removed her bra. 

_Then again_ , he thought, _she might actually be perfect_.

They wrestled until all of the underwear had been cast aside. Then, because Leslie was actually perfect, she immediately looked him over, smiled, kissed him, pushed him onto his back, and started stroking, practically before his boxers had even hit the floor. 

Somehow Ben had never put this part in his fantasies—god only knew why not, since his own hand had been involved in so many of them. Her hand felt much better, of course. Or, hands, since she’d moved her other hand down there as well…

“Leslie, just—stop for a minute, okay?”

“Why?” 

“Because you’re naked,” he said, trying desperately to sound reasonable, “and I want to look at you.” 

“There’s no time for that,” she protested. She’d paused, though, and god, she looked like…ten million times better than he’d ever…why wasn’t he touching her? “There’s not much difference between no shirt and no bra.”

“Leslie, there’s a huge difference.” He was appreciating that difference right now. His hand started tracing along her chest, although he hadn’t told it to. “What do you mean, there’s _no time_? Are we on a schedule?”

Leslie dropped to her side, propped up on one elbow, and scooted closer, putting herself within easier reach. Then she reached out with her free hand, and ran it down his leg. “Do you have anywhere else to be tonight?”

If he did, he’d be the biggest fool in the history of the universe. “Of course not.”

“I didn’t think so.” She grinned and kissed him again, and Ben suddenly realized that it would be nearly impossible not to just be in a constant state of kissing her from here on out. “Come on. Get comfortable.”

“Get _comfortable_?” Her head was level with his hips, all of a sudden.

“Well, yeah.” Before he could respond, she’d wrapped her lips around him. 

_Oh_.

“Leslie—” he started, but she held up one finger to silence him and then flicked her tongue in a way that made all sorts of odd noises come out of his throat. She didn’t even pause, but he could feel her give a pleased little chuckle and somehow, he thought, it was the sexiest thing he’d ever experienced. 

He didn’t last too much longer. 

Damn it. No, wait, he felt really spectacularly great, so not damn it. But…damn it.

“Pretty awesome, right?” Leslie asked, hoisting herself up so that she was hovering over him. Her sly smile was back, and that was irresistible. He ran his hands down her sides, across her back, over her hips. Wrapped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close enough to kiss her. Finally, _finally_ , stroked around the base of her breasts with his other hand.

So, wait. She _meant_ to get him off just now?

Everything clicked into place. 

Leslie Knope was nothing if not a brilliant strategist. 

When they did it for the first time, she wanted it to be _good_. And for that, he had to be…

It’d take him another couple of hours to be ready again. But Leslie was clearly way too turned on right now to leave her hanging, and besides, patience was not usually one of her virtues. Ben could feel heat radiating from her body, and when he moved his right hand lower, she whimpered. He found her center right away, but started slowly, gently—

Leslie closed her eyes. “ _Yes_ ,” she moaned, and she pushed against him. _Hard._ Good lord, that was sexy.

Okay, it might not take him a couple of hours to be ready. It might only take twenty minutes. He rolled out from under her, held her shoulders, and flipped her onto her back. “Now you get comfortable.” 

She wriggled a little bit, smoothed the sheets beneath her. “I’m comfortable.” 

“Good,” he said. “Now—”

“No talking,” she said, shaking a finger at him. “Kissing. Now. On my mouth.” 

He could do that. And behind her ears, on her pulse point, her shoulders, her collarbones, down her chest. She gasped when his mouth found her nipple; gasped harder when he slid a finger into her. Her head curled into his chest and she tangled both her legs around one of his, grinding against him, clutching at whatever parts of him she could reach. 

All he had to do was circle his thumb a couple of times, while he moved his finger, and she came. It happened suddenly and, although she bucked hard against him, gripping his shoulder, it was over...quickly. In his fantasies, he’d always given her more than that. 

And this, he reminded himself, wasn’t a fantasy. He was still in her bed, and he was still working his finger inside her. 

No need to stop now. 

“Ben,” she said, a few moments later, “what are you…?”

“You said you knew what you wanted,” he said, burying his face into her neck. “Well, I know what I want.” 

“What do you want?” The words came out unevenly. 

“I want to make you come again.” He stroked her softly with his thumb. She had a better one in there, he just knew it. She fell silent for a moment, then twitched and pushed against him. “See?” he said, with a smirk, and he dropped his face into her breasts.

“Yeah, but…” He could feel her holding her breath, and finally she let it out in a big huff. “But we have to save—I don’t want—”

Ben paused, then, and gave her a long, deep kiss, and really, this was a huge advantage of Leslie being so tiny, that he could kiss her and use his hand at the same time. Easily. Her breath was coming in little gasps, now. 

“Leslie,” he said, looking directly into her eyes, “orgasms are not a finite resource.” She bit her lip and nodded and squeaked out a single _please_. 

He replaced his hand with his mouth. 

The second one lasted a lot longer. 

After Leslie had started breathing again, Ben disappeared into the bathroom to clean up a little. When he returned, she was still in bed, tucked into the sheets, with her hair looking decidedly scandalous and her fingers idly playing across her chest. 

“Get back over here,” she said, with a huge grin. One arm reached out, beckoning, and wrapped itself around him as he slid under the sheets with her. 

“Okay.” So he was in her arms, and not the other way around like he’d always imagined, and she wasn’t drowsy in the slightest, but he wondered, now, how he ever could have imagined that Leslie Knope would get _drowsy_. But who cared? They were naked in bed together and it was better than—than—who cared, Leslie had started scratching his head and he nearly purred, absurdly, like a cat. 

“This,” Leslie said—she was back to the businesslike voice, which was still sexy—“was a good idea.” 

“You have more good ideas than anyone I know.” 

She smiled. He could feel it; Leslie smiled with her whole body, he knew that now. “I was trying not to let this happen.”

“I know.”

“You screwed up my plans.”

“ _I_ screwed up your plans?”

“Yeah. You said all those things and then you kissed me in your office.”

“I did do that.” Could they stay here forever? He just wanted to keep touching her, really. That was all. 

“You’re really good at kissing.” 

“ _You’re_ really good at kissing.” At some point he should probably stop just repeating everything she said, but…

“Then why aren’t you kissing me right now?” 

“I have no idea.” He started doing that. 

A few moments later, she snaked her hand down his side. “Are you ready yet?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Yes or no?”

If it wasn’t a yes now, it would be before too much longer. “I don’t think we’ll know unless we try.” 

She straddled him, grinning, and pinned his shoulders to the mattress. The devious look was definitely back. “I want to try.” 

“Leslie…” His hands found her waist again. Still perfect. “You’re just…so great.”

“Well, don’t say that now. We haven’t even had sex yet.” 

“I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”

“Yeah.” Another kiss. “I’m sure of that too. I mean, I don’t mean to brag, but—wait, that isn’t going to sound great if I say it.” She rearranged her hair. “Remember that day in Chris’s office, after the art show?” 

“Oh god, that painting.” The other parts of those few days weren’t worth thinking about. Just Leslie. “You really are a goddess, aren’t you?” 

“Mm,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Think you can keep up?” 

He raised an eyebrow back. “I think so.” 

“I think so too.” She took a deep breath and smiled, confidently. “You deserve a real goddess.” 

And she fell on him, in a flurry of hands and lips and hair.


End file.
